


Scars

by catalysticskies



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 00:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catalysticskies/pseuds/catalysticskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in the cosmos of alternate realities, a group of kids played a game that changed their lives. In this reality, the effects of the game are leaking through, bringing about unwanted uncertainties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hikaie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikaie/gifts).



> The lovely Lokale has given me permission to try and write a fic for her fic, "[Finding Scars That Should Have Never Been is Hard and No One Understands](http://archiveofourown.org/works/224453?view_full_work=true)", so this is my very poorly constructed attempt.

_“Oh what the fuck,” you hiss, staring at the empty spot on the tank where the books used to be, then moving to the freshly re-broken window. There was an asshole in here and he stole the shit that wasn't technically yours, and nobody steals stuff that is ambiguously under your possession._

_You uncaptchalogue your timetables, spinning the right disc back a few minutes. That should be enough to catch them. You smack them both down, an act that's not quite practised yet, and there's a flash that makes your head spin and you're still in your room exactly the same, but you re-captcha your tables as you catch sight of the black hard-shelled figure standing on your floor._

_“Sorry for the confusion, but this ain't your turf, dickfuck,” you chide, going for your sword. The carapace turns, and there's a lance in his hand before you can say 'well, shit' and all your goddamn training goes right down the drain, a hot burning pain suddenly in your chest and your body goes fucking limp of all things. The last thing you see as your eyes blur out -why the fuck are they doing that? You never told them they could do that- is the guy climbing onto your desk and back out the window._

_It suddenly hits you that you're dying, your hands sticky where they clutch at your numb chest with the small spike of pain in a small scar in the middle. Everything's red and on fire and you're so done, you failed, there's nothing else, and as you fall back over the desk with the stopping of your heart you know that you should have thought that through a little more, you're expiring-_

You snap up into a sitting position, gasping for air you can't find, holy shit you can't _breathe_. A bead of cold sweat rolls down your neck as your lungs decide they want to work, your eyes wet while you level out your breathing. God, you hate the nightmares. They've been getting more and more lucid lately, most of them related ever since that bizarre one on the morning of John's birthday. You're pretty sure you're going crazy.

Six forty-eight. You guess that's late enough to not be suspiciously early. Rolling out of bed, you grab your shades and some clothes and head off for the bathroom, relaxing and refreshing yourself as you wash off the sweat you're almost used to waking up with. You towel down your hair before you put on your shades -they're always the first thing you dress yourself with. You slip on some pants before grabbing some paracetamol tablets from the mirror cabinet over the sink, popping one out of the little foil bubbles and dry swallowing, sticking the box back in the cabinet with the rest of the crap that should be useless but you both end up using for some reason or another. It's kind of unsettling, but it just 'comes with the territory', he'd told you on the one occasion you asked.

Wait a minute. You stop as you close the cabinet, looking at your shirtless reflection in the mirror, the torso flecked with tiny little scars, some of them more recent and still varying shades of red. One of them you'd never noticed before, putting the others the shame where it sits obnoxiously in the middle of your chest, stretching from slightly above your left nipple to down about an inch above where your ribs meet in the middle. _What the fuck_ you think curiously, brushing your fingers gently along it. It's hot to the touch, like it's fresh, but the scar itself would have to be a couple years old at least, a pale ridge in your skin. You would remember getting something that nast, but you can't for the life of you recall how it got there.

Your mind flashes back to your dream, the carapace -you pause as you realise you don't know how the fuck you know what it's called- arcing its little lance through your flesh like butter. The guy made short work of you, you have to admire that, but it's still scaring you shitless. There's no way the two would be related, unless it was some kind of suppressed memory and the dream was a way of telling yourself it was time to stop pushing it down. Lalonde would have a field day on that one.

You begrudgingly slip your shirt on, not wanting to have to think about it. You got other shit that needs doing, most of which involves doing nothing, and definitely not dwelling on the stupid tricks your fucked up brain is pulling on you. You walk back into your room a little sourly anyway, leaving breakfast for later, but your curiosity perks up after you pull your computer from sleep (it's never off, except for in blackouts, because who knows when you'll need to use it) and see a message from your friend. It's late for her, the early morning daylight streaming around your curtains telling you she should not be awake, but you settle in your chair to see what her deal is.

\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] began trolling turntechGodhead [TG]! --  
GC: COOLK1D!  
GC: R1S3 4ND SH1N3, 1 H4V3 1MPORT4NT BUS1N3SS TO D1SCUSS  
TG: tz holy shit it is way too early for your obnoxious quirk  
TG: seriously you gotta cool it on the shouty numbers  
TG: do i wanna know what this business is  
TG: or should i just leave now and save myself the effort  
TG: it better not be actually important because fuck that noise  
GC: TH3 HUG3 GRUMP H4S 4WOK3N, R3JO1C3!  
GC: ST4Y WH3R3 YOU 4R3, 1M NOT GO1NG TO DROP 4 CORPS3 BY YOUR DOOR OR 4NYTH1NG  
GC: OR 4M 1 >;]  
GC: > ;]  
GC: >;]  
TG: dont do the eyebrow thing  
TG: even though those are apparently supposed to be horns  
TG: i dont even get that what the heck  
TG: but ok im crossing corpse droppings off my list of shit i need to worry about crazy sadist troll girls doing to me  
TG: are you gonna spit it or what  
GC: GOD YOU 4R3 T3STY TH1S MORN1NG >:/  
GC: 1 W4S JUST CH3CK1NG 1N TO S33 HOW MY F4VOUR1TE K1D 1S DO1NG!  
GC: 4M 1 4LLOW3D TO DO TH4T??  
TG: you mean smell  
GC: >:D  
TG: but yeah youre allowed to do that  
TG: idk why youre up at like fuck early oclock to do it  
TG: shouldnt you be sleeping in your coffin or something  
TG: or youll burn  
TG: is that how being nocturnal works  
GC: D4V3 1 H4V3 3XPL41N3D TH1S, W3 4R3 NOT YOUR DUMB HUM4N V4MP1R3S!  
GC: THOUGH 1 M1GHT TRY OUT YOUR BLOOD SOM3T1ME H3H3  
TG: creep  
GC: YOU KNOW 1T  
GC: BUT S3R1OUSLY 1 4M JUST WOND3R1NG 1F YOUR3 OK  
GC: 1SNT 1T SUP3R 34RLY FOR YOU TOO??  
TG: im not a wiggler i dont need checking on  
TG: fuck did i just say wiggler  
TG: damn you guys are infectious  
TG: whatever  
TG: it isnt that early i guess its not the earliest ive been up  
TG: im fine though idk why youd need to check  
TG: all hey dave let me drop by like a worried parent and see how youre doing no worries  
TG: im perfectly fine and its never the case otherwise  
GC: W3LL GOOD! 1M GL4D NOTH1NG H4PP3N3D TO MY LOV3LY HUM4N CH3RRY POP  
TG: dont call me cherry pop it makes it sound like youre comparing me to karkat  
TG: which is very insensitive of you  
TG: because fuck that guy  
GC: >:T  
TG: ok so case closed  
TG: you can stop jacking yourself off to your cross questioning of my current state  
TG: my turn  
TG: why are you worried all of a sudden  
GC: 1F YOU MUST KNOW  
GC: 1 H4D 4 D4YM4R3  
TG: tell me about it  
GC: 1 DUNNO WH4T TH3R3 1S TO T3LL. 1 W4S S1TT1NG 1N TH1S ROOM W1TH MY OTH3R TROLL FR13NDS W4TCH1NG YOU ON 4 MON1TOR  
GC: 4ND YOUR ROOM GOT BROK3N 1NTO BY SOM3 GUY  
GC: 4ND YOU D13D!  
GC: BUT TH3N 4LPH4 YOU W4S ST1LL TH3R3 SO 1 T4LK3D TO H1M FOR 4 B1T  
TG: alpha me  
GC: DONT 4SK M3 WH4T TH4T M34NS B3C4US3 1 DONT KNOW  
TG: alright cool  
TG: this break in murderer wouldnt happen to be a black hard shelled guy would he  
GC: Y3S!! HOW D1D YOU KNOW?  
TG: had a similar dream  
TG: except mine ended at the dying part  
GC: >:O  
GC: TH4TS K1ND OF SPOOKY  
TG: youre telling me  
TG: whatever we can jam about spooky dream shit later  
TG: i need a coffee and you need to sleep  
GC: Y3S TH3 SL1ME DO3S LOOK QU1T3 1NV1TING  
GC: OH W3LL, 1 GU3SS 1LL T4LK TO YOU L4T3R COOLK1D!  
GC: TRY NOT TO D13 4NYMOR3 T1M3S  
TG: yeah will do  
TG: later  
\-- gallowsCalibrator [GC] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG]! –

If you thought the scenario was weird on its own, then this is just goddamned bizarre. You know some trolls are psychic or some bullshit like that, but you never thought Terezi was, even if she is kickass at any kind of judicial scenario you can throw at her, so knowing she had a dream nigglingly similar to yours is just rendering any simile for 'weird' completely juvenile. You're not really sure how to process it, if you're even supposed to at all. Maybe you should just do what you usually do, which is roll with it until shit starts going wrong and then roll back the other direction.

Either way, you think you'll leave it for now and pore over this stuff later. Jade might have some answers, given she always seems to be waist deep in weird sleep-related shit that you're kind of dubious about but go with anyway. You'll have to wait for her to wake up, and judging how long that will take is like trying to guess the millilitres of water in a cloud. Not your best analogy, but fuck if you actually care right now.

You make yourself some coffee as quietly as you can, even though you're sure Bro isn't even home, then settle yourself on the futon to play some shitty ass game on the Xbox. You can't help noticing the tight feeling in your chest as you try to focus on everything but, the flash of the lance playing over in your mind. You're glad you don't get a strife today, even though you're due. You don't think you could handle swordplay without having some kind of breakdown. Breakdowns aren't uncommon though, and you're expecting a lot more for however long this creepy dream shit continues.


End file.
